


When Helping Hands Fumble the Ball

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Christmas, Established Relationship, Feelstide 2014, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil have had a rough few years, but things have settled down now, and Clint is ready to settle down, too. A Christmas proposal would be just the thing, if only his friends and teammates weren't quite to dedicated to helping him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Helping Hands Fumble the Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> Written for Feelstide prompt #51. I've included the text of the prompt at the end of the story, for those who wish to avoid spoilers.
> 
> **Takes place sometime after the 2nd season premiere of Agents of SHIELD, but it does not include any plot points other than SHIELD rebuilding itself and Phil being Director.**
> 
> **Small content warning** ~ A character is suddenly stricken with a non-contagious illness in this story. For more information, see the end notes.

 

"SHIELD 616 is approaching the tower."

Clint looked up, eyes wide. "What?"

"SHIELD 616 is approaching the tower," JARVIS repeated calmly.

"Now?!" Clint looked wildly around at the papers covering the coffee table and couch. "He's not supposed to be home until tomorrow morning!"

"It appears the Bus was headed for the Playground and was subsequently rerouted to include a dropoff. Director Coulson will arrive in approximately three minutes."

"Shit!" Clint scrambled up, piling papers and books and notes on top of each other. Half planned and mostly scratched out dinner menus and scrawled out notes with bullet points of what he planned to say -- everything went haphazardly into a single pile, instantly destroying the careful planning and organization he'd spent weeks on. There was a reason everything was written on spare SHIELD reports -- Clint was approaching this like the most important op he'd ever undertaken. Now, though, it was time for a hasty retreat.

He hurried into the room designated as his office, which was rarely used, as he preferred to spend his time in Phil's office, whether or not Phil was there. Opening up a desk drawer at random, he dumped everything in and then scrambled back to the couch to sprawl on it, turning up the volume on Dog Cops just as the front door unlocked.

"Welcome home, Director Coulson," JARVIS said smoothly, and Clint glanced up.

"You're home early," he said with a smile.

Phil smiled back as he shut the door, and Clint's heart skipped a beat.

That. He wanted that, Phil coming home to him with that smile, as often as he could get it. Forever. He drew in a deep breath.

Though maybe not that particular smile. It looked a little worn around the edges.

"Everything all right?" Clint asked as he stood and crossed to Phil.

"Fine," Phil told him, sliding his arms around Clint.

The kiss was soft and sweet, and Clint closed his eyes, grateful every single time for the way Phil's lips curved against his in a smile. He tightened his arms around Phil, freezing when it drew a tiny grunt from him.

Clint stopped kissing. "Are you in one piece?" he asked slowly.

Phil rested his forehead against Clint's. "Mostly. A little banged up."

Considering some of the ways Clint had heard Phil refer to the injury that had killed him, that could mean anything.

"Is everyone else in one piece?"

Phil nodded, resting his head against Clint's shoulder. "Mmm. Was touch and go for a minute or two, but everyone's fine. May thought I'd rest better in my own bed than the bunks back at base, though, and I can't say I disagree with her."

"Is the Bus in one piece?"

The pause was slightly longer this time. "For a given value of one piece. We know where all the pieces are, at least."

Clint's instinct was to tighten his arms around Phil for a while -- nearly losing him every other week was _not_ getting easier as time passed -- but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Phil any more than he was already hurting.

"Do you want something to eat?" Clint asked him, and Phil shook his head, still content to rest in the circle of Clint's arms.

"No. I think I'm going to go to bed. It was... kind of a rough day."

Clint swallowed hard. If Phil was admitting that, it meant the day would have been enough to break anyone else. He turned, catching Phil's hand in his as he walked toward the bedroom.

"You don't have to -- "

"I just want to keep my eyes on you for a while, okay?" Clint interrupted, and breathed deeply to calm himself. Their jobs were dangerous, and they spent a lot of time apart, and neither of them would trade it for anything, but sometimes, he just needed to watch Phil breathe for a while.

Phil was quiet, but he nodded, following Clint into the bedroom.

He changed quickly, stifling a wince when he pulled his shirt and undershirt off. Clint hissed in sympathy. There was a large purpling bruise on Phil's side, at his ribs. A quick glance showed no other visible injuries, even when his gaze skated quickly over the scars on Phil's chest and back. He turned toward the bathroom to grab the ibuprofen and a glass of water, and when he returned, Phil was already stretched out on the bed in sweats and a worn ARMY shirt.

Clint paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of him and wondering if he was ever going to stop taking mental pictures and thinking, _I need to remember this moment._

He handed Phil the water and the opened pill bottle, gently brushing his hand over the crown of Phil's head when he smiled up at Clint.

"Thanks."

Clint settled on the bed next to him, smiling when Phil set the glass down and carefully turned to cuddle against Clint's chest.

"Glad you're home."

"Glad to be home."

Clint only intended to rest for a few minutes while Phil fell asleep -- he had a lot to do, and a ton of planning to finish, after all -- but with Phil home and safe and happy in his arms, he drifted off too.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint woke with a start, arms tightening briefly around Phil, who grunted and then settled back against him, face buried in Clint's neck, still sound asleep. Clint lay for a moment, hand idly stroking Phil's arm as he stared down the dark hallway into the living room lit by the twinkling Christmas tree.

Phil's breath was steady against his neck, hitching every so often as he dreamed, and Clint closed his eyes, remembering how still he'd been in the casket he'd chosen for himself, laid out in his best suit. That was when Clint had first realized that he wasn't going to blink open those beautiful blue eyes and smile up at Clint. That he was truly gone.

Clint had lost a lot of people in his life, and nothing had ever come as close to breaking him as that realization had. Even now, all these months later, his eyes burned at the memories.

Before New York, before -- before Loki, he and Phil had been together, sort of. Nothing like they had now, sharing a bed and a home and life. What they'd had was meals and missions and fucking. With deadpan quips and snark on the comms, and he'd thought his life was perfect.

And then in one instant, one hellish instant, it had all been taken from him. Everything he was, everything he loved.

He'd surfaced in that infirmary cell to discover one more thing that bastard had taken from him. From everyone.

When Fury had told him and Natasha of the experimental procedures they'd used to bring Phil back, they'd been furious, but by then it'd been too late to stop Fury's mad plan. Phil had gone through hell before finding himself again, and Clint had been forced to watch from afar while everything he loved and everything he'd worked for fell into pieces around him again. 

But now Phil was as healthy as they could expect, SHIELD was slowly rebuilding itself from the ashes, and Clint had promised himself that he wasn't ever going to take Phil for granted again. He was ready now, and he was pretty sure Phil was, too. He thought of the rings he'd had made, the words that swirled around his head whenever he thought of dropping down to one knee in front of Phil.

The butterflies took over his stomach once more, but he ruthlessly beat them down. He was ready.

He brushed a kiss over Phil's temple.

So ready.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

They were eating breakfast -- Phil had woken up ravenous for more than food, and they'd worked up quite an appetite -- when the screen on the kitchen counter beeped.

"Miss Potts is calling," JARVIS told him. Clint glanced between himself and Phil. They were nearly naked and there was copious evidence of what they'd been doing before breakfast -- the only reason they weren't completely naked was that Phil insisted on no bare asses at the breakfast table.

"No video, please," he told JARVIS.

"Clint, good morning!" Pepper's cheery voice came through. "How goes the planning? Are you ready?"

"Pepper -- " Alarmed, Clint tried to interrupt, and Phil glanced curiously at him.

"Listen, I know you're insisting on doing the cooking yourself for the big night, but I think -- "

"Pepper -- "

"No, just listen -- "

"Good morning, Pepper," Phil broke in smoothly, brow furrowed as he stared at Clint, clearly aware that Clint was desperate, but not sure why.

There was a moment of horrified silence.

"Good morning, Phil," Pepper said, her voice smooth and even. "You're home early."

"I wasn't aware my return date was such a topic of discussion in the tower."

Pepper's cell phone rang in the background.

"Oh, I've got to go! I'm so glad you're home, Phil. Merry Christmas!"

She disconnected, and Clint grinned weakly at Phil.

"Christmas surprise," he explained. "Well, it was."

Phil's face softened. "I promise to act surprised by whatever you give me," he said warmly, and Clint gulped.

 _I don't think that's going to be a problem,_ he thought, a touch hysterically.

They finished their breakfast and returned the bedroom to shower and dress, and Clint grabbed his phone, glancing at it as he dressed.

_Oh my God, I am SO SORRY._

He huffed a laugh, glancing at the bathroom, where the shower was still running.

_We're good. I think. We'll see?_

Pepper's reply came quickly. _Everything is going to go wonderfully, and you'll be SO HAPPY._

_Hope so_ , Clint replied with a sigh, tucking his phone into his pocket. At times like this, he could've really used Natasha's presence, even if her method of reassuring him was to raise a sardonic eyebrow at him and then knock him around the sparring mats for a few hours. But she was mostly out of contact these days, checking in with him every six weeks or so.

Hopefully, he'd have some good news for her the next time she called.

He wandered to the bathroom and stood in the doorway, watching as Phil got ready for his day. The simple motions of him combing his hair and splashing on aftershave, snapping his towel and hanging it precisely on the rack, were so familiar and yet, never boring.

"Hey, so, since the surprise part of the surprise dinner is no longer, d'you mind if I kick you out later for a little while so I can cook? At least the menu is still a surprise."

Phil studied his face. "Sure. You don't have to, you know. I'm happy with frozen pizza on the couch while we watch movies."

Clint grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and pulled him close. "I know you are, but it's Christmas Eve, and I want to do something a little nicer."

"Is everyone invited?"

Clint laughed. "You think I'm cooking a Christmas feast for Thor and Steve? I'd need _days_. No, just you and me. If that's okay."

"I don't know, I guess I can deal with spending Christmas Eve having a romantic dinner with you. If I have to."

"If I don't burn it," Clint said with a snort.

"You won't," Phil grinned. "I have faith in you."

He said it teasingly, but it still sent shivers through Clint, because he knew it was true. And that still floored him, every time.

"And hey, if you do? Frozen pizza. I win either way."

"Get out," Clint said, shoving him, and Phil mock-stumbled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Do you need all day to prepare?"

He'd been planning to spend the day firming up what he planned to say, but that was dumb. The more he thought about it, the more the words tangled themselves up inside him, and if he tried to rehearse it, he was just going to fuck it up. Simple was the key, Phil appreciated simple. Efficient.

He swallowed down the urge to just blurt it out.

Phil might appreciate simple and efficient, but he deserved perfect. Clint was going to give it to him.

"Clint?"

Phil was watching him, eyes narrowed just so slightly in concern, and Clint shook himself out of his fugue.

"What? Um, no. Not all day, no. I just need to tell JARVIS what to order, so just, from like three maybe? You wanna just relax, maybe catch up with what's on the DVR?"

"Sounds good."

"Go find something, I'm just gonna -- "

He pointed toward his office door, and Phil smiled.

"Love you, you know."

Phil did that, he just, like, blurted it out whenever he wanted. Clint -- Clint was trying. It was still hard for him -- it meant so much, it was hard to just give in to it.

"You too," he mumbled, and Phil's smile widened as he pulled Clint in for a kiss.

Oh God, what the hell was Clint going to say tonight? He was so going to screw it up.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint was just finishing the sauce, an apron tied smartly over his dress shirt and slacks, when the front door opened. He glanced over his shoulder as he started plating. Phil ambled into the apartment, hips loose, a little grin on his lips.

"You look great," he said with an appreciative leer. Then, he frowned. "I should change."

"Hey, you in jeans is almost as rare as me in a suit. I like us exactly like we are. Did you have fun with Steve and Thor and Stark?"

"Mmm," Phil moved into the kitchen, coming up behind Clint. He slid his arms around Clint, leaning heavily into his back. Clint quickly braced himself against the counter as Phil's hands slid under his apron, skating over the muscles of Clint's chest. His breath was warm in Clint's ear, but... Clint sniffed. Sniffed again and then shivered when Phil's lips latched onto his neck just over his shirt collar.

Clint groaned a little and then blinked, shaking his head. "Phil -- Phil, wait."

"Don't wanna..."

Avoiding Phil's wandering hands and the way he was gently thrusting his hips against Clint's ass, Clint turned in his arms. It didn't really help, because now Phil was thrusting against his groin, and Clint's brain cells were rapidly departing. Phil took the opportunity to surge into a kiss, and Clint kissed back for a second before pulling away, because Phil definitely tasted like... alcohol. Clint couldn't be more specific than that.

"Phil... are you drunk?"

Phil pulled back, and on anyone else, the tiny step he took to steady himself might not have even been noticeable, but on Phil, it was nearly a stagger. Clint stared into his eyes, which were _definitely_ a little glassy.

"No," Phil said instantly. And then frowned. "Maybe. A little. Tipsy."

"Phil!"

"Didn't mean to! Thor had... something. I only had one glass, to be sociable and polite, but I seem to have undra -- underestimated its potency, especially combined with painkillers, even over the counter ones."

Clint sighed.

"I'm hungry, though," Phil said hopefully. "Is it time to eat? JARVIS said you were ready."

Trying to pretend like his plans weren't falling down around his ears, Clint gestured Phil to the table. He ignored the weight of the small ring box in his pocket -- Phil was far more than a little tipsy, and Clint was _not_ going to ask the most important question of his life when Phil might not remember it in the morning.

"It smells amazing," Phil said happily, and Clint smiled as he set the plate down in front of Phil.

_Damn Asgardians._

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil was still sleeping -- well, still passed out -- when Clint woke the next morning. Groaning, he disentangled himself and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt before moving into the living room. A quick question to JARVIS and he made his way to the shared kitchen.

He walked in to see Thor staring out into the snow, oversized mug looking like a demitasse cup in his huge hand. Steve sat at the table tucking into what looked like a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon.

They looked up at his entrance, both of them grinning.

"Clint! How do you do this fine morning? Was your campaign successful? Do you even now leave your groom-to-be cold and alone among the pillows?"

"How'd it go?"

Clint glared at both of them until their smiles wilted. It felt kind of like kicking a couple of puppies, but they'd _ruined his proposal plans_.

"It didn't, because _someone_ , or actually _a group of someones_ got Phil drunk. I wasn't gonna ask him then!"

"He had but one glass!" Thor protested. "I thought mayhap it would relax him for your evening!"

"It knocked him on his ass," Clint said, crossing his arms.

"We're really sorry, Clint!" Steve said, frowning in dismay. "That's the last thing we wanted, honestly! We were -- well, we were celebrating, even if he didn't really know what we were celebrating yet."

"Indeed, we did not wish to thwart you, I swear."

Clint sighed. "It's fine. I'm beginning to think grand plans and declarations aren't going to work anyway. I was just hoping..."

He shut his mouth. He didn't need to spill all his worries and fears out here. He opened his mouth to reassure them again, and "Oh god, what if he says no?" came spilling out.

There was a snort behind him, and Tony ambled into the kitchen, his hair standing up worse than Clint's. "For a man with your codename you're pretty damn blind sometimes, Locksley. Everyone can see the stars in his eyes when he looks at you, and I'm not even talking about the completely unsubtle way he looks at your ass. Just ask him."

"Your regard for each other is genuine," Thor said earnestly. "He will not refuse you, Clint."

Clint glanced from him to Steve, who was nodding and giving him an encouraging smile. Snorting, Clint ran a hand over his face.

"Right. You guys are right. It'll be fine. He's gonna say yes. Of course he is. I should go, I don't want him to be alone. He'll think I'm pissed at him, and it's not him I'm pissed at."

Tony rolled his eyes as Steve and Thor's smiles wilted into guilty looks again. "You guys make it too easy," he complained, and Clint grinned as he tossed them a salute and headed for the elevator.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil was still just a lump under the blankets when Clint made it back to their suite, so Clint showered and made coffee, eating a bowl of cereal while it brewed. He was sitting on the couch in their suite, sipping coffee and trying to rearrange his plans and figure out what to do now, when there was a quiet groan from the bedroom.

After a minute or two, Phil emerged, glasses on, wincing when the weak morning sunlight filtering through the floor to ceiling windows hit his eyes. His hair was tousled, a dandelion around his head, and he had sleep creases on his cheek. Clint smiled at the sight, and shut down the resentment that tried to rise. Phil hadn't ruined his plans on purpose, and, well, Clint was the one who'd sent him away on Christmas Eve to begin with, when they had so little time to spend together.

Phil headed straight for the coffeemaker and drank half a cup while facing the kitchen cabinets.

"Phil," Clint said softly, and Phil's shoulders slumped a little. The last of Clint's anger fled at the sight of Phil's obvious guilt about the situation. "Come here."

He did, and sat at the opposite side of the couch. He raised his bloodshot eyes to Clint's, too much of a good guy to avoid talking about it when he thought he'd done wrong. "I'm sorry I ruined your dinner."

Clint set his now empty coffee cup down and tugged him closer until he was resting against Clint's chest, Clint's arm around his shoulder.

"You didn't. We both enjoyed it very much."

Phil frowned. "Wish I could remember."

"Beware of demigods bearing spirits," Clint said with a chuckle. "You might have only had one glass, but it hit you hard. And, by the way, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Phil still sounded subdued, and Clint sighed.

"Phil. It's okay -- you didn't do it on purpose, and I've already yelled at Thor and Steve -- that was bad enough, it was like yelling at a couple of puppies. Don't make me deal with your puppydog eyes on top of that."

Phil huffed a tiny laugh. "I'm the Director of SHIELD," he said with dignity. "I do not have puppydog eyes."

Clint laughed and stole a sip of Phil's coffee. "You so do. They're weapons-grade."

"What did you have planned for today?" Phil asked as he stole his coffee back.

 _A whole lot of celebratory we-just-got-engaged sex_ , Clint thought darkly. _Guess that's off the table._

"Nothing much," he said out loud. "Christmas movies on the couch, drinking hot chocolate and eating the Christmas cookies I've been baking all week?"

Phil's slightly-hungover frown disappeared and his eyes widened as he glanced from his coffee over to Clint. "You baked cookies?"

"So many cookies," Clint told him with a tired grin. Turned out he was a stress baker. Who knew?

Phil gave a tiny sound of dismay as he glanced down into his empty coffee cup, and affection burst through Clint.

The words _Marry me!_ hovered on his tongue, and he bit them down. Phil deserved more than to be asked while he was hungover on the couch, both of them in ratty sweatpants, before he'd even combed his hair.

Clint just wasn't sure _how_ he wanted to do this anymore.

"More coffee," Phil grunted. "Then a shower."

"I'm gonna hit the gym for a bit while you do that," Clint told him. He needed to burn off some of this excess energy and anxiety. His foot wanted to bounce, and he stilled it with effort.

"Sure. Merry Christmas," Phil said again, his eyes bright but still bloodshot, his smile genuine this time. He leaned in for a kiss, which Clint willingly gave.

Phil hummed happily into the kiss, reaching out blindly to set his mug onto the coffee table next to Clint's. He wrapped his arms around Clint, deepening the kiss, and Clint sighed, sliding his hands up Phil's strong back and into his hair to hold on tight.

This was a _much_ better way to burn off his excess energy, Clint realized, and then all of his thoughts and worries and plans slid away for a while as he lost himself in Phil.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Their Christmas Day was boring, which made it perfect. They never had nearly enough boring in their lives. 

Clint peeked out of the kitchen, where he was arranging cookies on a plate and making hot chocolate. Phil was sitting on the couch, relaxed, reading something on his tablet. Possibly the news, maybe a comic book, Clint thought fondly. Phil always waited until he was back at the tower to catch up with his digital subscriptions.

"Does anyone on your team know just how much of a big geek you are?" Clint said as he brought Phil a mug of hot chocolate. He went back into the kitchen and grabbed a plate of cookies, setting it on the table beside Phil, and then carefully cradling his own mug of chocolate, he settled himself on the couch next to Phil, squirming right up next to him, and stretching out his legs on the ottoman beside Phil's.

Phil didn't answer him, just sipped his hot chocolate with dignity as he wrapped his other arm around Clint and pulled him closer. His tablet lay facedown on his thigh.

"No? Guess it's just me, then," Clint teased, but the knowledge that Phil trusted Clint with the parts of himself he didn't trust to anyone else warmed Clint, filling him with a happy gratification that was only a little smug.

"These look fantastic." Phil bit into a peanut butter cookie and sighed with satisfaction, and Clint felt pride surge at Phil's obvious enjoyment. Phil offered the cookie to Clint, who took a huge bite, nipping at Phil's fingers.

"Hey," Phil objected with a grin, snatching his fingers back. He leaned in to press a quick peanut-butter flavored kiss on Clint's lips, and then sat back, moving the plate of cookies so that they could both reach it.

"What should we watch?" Clint asked as he munched on a snickerdoodle and then sipped at his hot chocolate.

"Let's start with a classic," Phil said, and Clint laughed.

"Start with _Die Hard_ , please, JARVIS," he asked, and Phil grinned into his hot chocolate.

"Certainly, sir."

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

They were drowsing on the couch, the credits of _It's a Wonderful Life_ rolling on the screen in the darkening room. Phil's stomach growled, and Clint smiled. It was getting toward dinner time. They had the leftovers of the dinner he'd prepared, but the thought of reheating them and eating them again while the purpose of the meal remained unfulfilled was just… depressing.

"What do you think of Chinese for Christmas dinner?" he murmured, but before Phil could answer, there was a knock on the door. "What the hell? JARVIS?"

"It appears to be a gift from Mr. Stark, Agent Barton. A peace offering, if you will."

"Thought we weren't exchanging gifts this year," Phil said, curious.

Clint hummed distractedly, disentangling himself from Phil and going to the door. Phil followed close behind.

The screen in the wall next to the door showed two unfamiliar men in black dress shirts and slacks, wearing black ties. There were accompanied by two carts, laden with food and wine, crystal and tableware.

"JARVIS wouldn't have let them on the elevator if he didn't trust them," Phil mused.

"You are correct, Director Coulson."

Clint shrugged and opened the door.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Stark has arranged food and wine pairings from several of New York's most exclusive restaurants for you this evening. I'm George and this is Tyrell. We're here to set up the meal, and also serve, if you'd like, or we can set up and leave you to it, if you'd prefer."

Phil and Clint barely had to glance at each other to come to an agreement. Having strange people in their personal space was not comfortable. At all.

"I think we can handle serving ourselves," Clint said. "But thank you."

"Which one of you is Mr. Everdeen?" George asked, and Clint sighed and raised his hand, well aware of the smirk Phil was trying -- and failing -- to hide. "Mr. Stark asked that I give this to you."

He handed Clint a sheet of notepaper folded into quarters. Clint glanced at Phil and didn't open it.

Phil saw Clint's hesitation, and because he was awesome like that, took the hint. "Why don't I show these gentlemen where to set up while you look that over." Then, to the two servers, "This way, please."

Clint waited until they'd wheeled the two carts of food, wine, and supplies past him and disappeared into the dining room before unfolding the note.

_We fucked things up for you last night, and this is the least I can do to make up for it, but don't ever mention it or I'll deny it happened and have JARVIS erase the footage. You can't propose to the man over leftovers -- it sends completely the wrong message. And don't get your thong in a twist, I gave each restaurant explicit instructions and approved the whole menu. -- TS_

"What'd he say?" Phil asked curiously, and Clint resisted the urge to crumple the note and clutch it to his chest so Phil couldn't see. Instead, he carefully refolded it and tucked it into his pocket.

"Just, uh, that he ruined my dinner for you last night, and he wants to make up for it."

"That's awfully nice of him," Phil said warily.

"He owes me for ruining my Christmas Eve dinner," Clint told him; his smile slowly growing. "This... this is actually really great of him."

Phil studied Clint's face for a moment, chagrin filling his own features. "It was really important to you, wasn't it? I'm sorry -- "

"Shh. No sorries. We're gonna eat Tony's five star food and drink his super expensive wine and celebrate tonight, and it'll be perfect."

 _Perfect_ , Clint thought again as Phil nodded. He'd go get the ring box he'd stashed back in his bow case now, and then after dinner, when Phil was serving up dessert, he'd find the words to say. Somehow.

Phil glanced back toward the dining room. Neither of them liked leaving the two servers unaccompanied, even with JARVIS watching over all.

"Go," Clint told him, gesturing in that direction with a tilt of his head. "I'm just going to grab something first."

Phil looked curious, but nodded before walking back down the hall.

Clint ducked into the room they used as a small personal gym and grabbed the small velvet box out of his bow case. He stared at it for a minute, taking a deep breath. Clenching his fist around it, he tucked it into his pocket.

It might not be the dinner he'd worked so hard to plan, but it was going to work beautifully.

"Thanks, Stark. You're the best," Clint muttered, and then he glanced up, alarmed. "Don't ever tell him I said that, JARVIS."

"Of course not, sir."

Clint grinned and then went to find Phil.

Tyrell was setting out dishes and beautiful tableware and glassware while George was explaining the menu and the wine and food pairings to Phil, who was listening intently. Clint left him to it, since he himself didn't usually bother more than _red with meat, white with fish_.

"... and I believe that's all, sir. Unless, you've changed your mind and would like us to serve."

"I think we'll take it from here, gentlemen. Thank you." Phil reached for his wallet, but Tyrell spoke quickly, to stop him.

"That's not necessary, sir. Mr. Stark has taken care of everything. Including the gratuity."

"Well, then, thank you," Clint said, putting his hand on Phil's arm before he could do something crazy like tip them anyway. Knowing Tony, he'd already given them a 500% tip.

"Yes, sir. Enjoy your meal. We'll show ourselves out."

"I'll walk you to the door," Clint countered, and did so.

When he returned, Phil was serving up a beautiful salad with what looked like pear and prosciutto. He sat down as Phil poured them both a glass of wine.

"Merry Christmas, Clint," he said with a warm smile, and Clint's lips curved unconsciously in return.

"Merry Christmas, Phil." He tapped his wineglass against Phil's, took a sip, and then took a bite of salad.

It tasted as good as it looked, and he nearly moaned in enjoyment.

"Stark's all right sometimes," he said as he took another sip of wine and Phil laughed.

After the salad there was a portion of herb-crusted salmon that looked like it belonged on the pages of a magazine.

"It's very good, but I'm sure your dinner was better," Phil said loyally, and Clint smiled, forking up another bite of salmon.

"It was," Clint said with a laugh. "You said a lot of very nice things about it. In between grabbing at me and saying just as many nice things about my ass."

Phil ducked his head, embarrassed. He was flushed, and Clint glanced from him to his full wineglass. Asgardian mead notwithstanding, Phil rarely drank -- he didn't have the same family history that Clint did, but he never liked to be in less than full control.

When Phil cleared his throat for the second time in a couple of minutes, Clint glanced up from his meal in alarm. Phil was frowning as he set his fork down beside his plate. He cleared his throat again, and Clint watched him swallow heavily.

"Shit," Clint snapped as he shoved his chair back from the table. "Something has fucking sesame in it. Dammit, Stark! Where's your Epipen, Phil? Don't talk, just point."

"Go bag." Phil's voice was breathy, and he was wheezing now, his face blotchy and starting to swell. Clint glanced wildly around the room for a moment, trying to locate Phil's go bag, before remembering that there was another Epipen stashed in the drawer of the end table by the sofa. He practically dove for it.

"JARVIS, call for an ambulance!"

"I do not believe that is necessary -- "

"Don't argue with me, just do it!" Clint's voice rose in panic as he searched for the Epipen.

"-- but I have notified the Medical wing in the tower to prepare for your arrival."

"Yes, that, good! Dammit, where the hell is it?" Clint snarled, digging through all the crap in the drawer.

"I'm fine," Phil gasped. "I just need -- "

"I said don't talk!" Finally locating it, Clint ran back toward Phil as he shakily pushed himself away from the table. Phil reached for the injector with trembling hands, but Clint ignored him, ripping it out of the packaging and plunging it into the meat of Phil's thigh.

He counted off the seconds, dropping the injector to the floor and massaging the injection site as Phil's breathing started to ease. He was still pale, blotchy, and trembling, his eyes wide as he gripped Clint's shoulder.

Clint rested his head briefly against Phil's thigh, raising it and shoving to his feet as Phil shivered.

"Cold?" he asked, and Phil nodded, consciously keeping his breathing steady and even.

The cold was a symptom of the epinephrine, he knew, and even though he hated to leave Phil's side, he forced himself to go to the hall closet and find Phil's old Blackhawks sweatshirt.

"Do you require assistance to the Medical wing?" JARVIS asked as Clint helped Phil put the sweatshirt on.

"I don't need Medical," Phil said quietly. His breathing was easier, but his voice was still shaky.

"Well, too bad. You're going. We can call an ambulance instead, if you'd like that better? One with flashing lights and an awesome siren. Merry fucking Christmas," Clint snapped.

Phil didn't reply, and Clint sighed, unclenching his fists. It was far from the first allergic reaction he'd witnessed Phil have during the long years of both their working and personal relationships, but it was only the second since Phil had come back. And they were even harder to deal with now, with the image of Phil in his casket always lurking at the edges of Clint's memory.

"Sorry. I'm sorry I yelled. I just…"

Looking tired and drawn, Phil just nodded. Clint grabbed Phil's shoulders with both hands, resting his forehead against Phil's for a moment before moving away again. He went back to the table and crouched to pick up the discarded Epipen and the packaging, shoving both items into his pocket and stalking toward the end table to grab the second one, just in case. He stuck that in his pocket as well, and returned to where Phil was leaning against the wall by the hall closet.

"Please, just… you know you need to go, and it's just downstairs. We don't even have to leave the Tower. Can we just go without fighting about it? This once?" Reaching into the closet, Clint pulled out both his sneakers and Phil's. "Please?"

Phil nodded tiredly, and Clint hid his sigh of relief as he crouched to help Phil with his shoes. It was a testament to how crappy Phil was feeling that he let Clint do so without a single complaint.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Medical was deserted due to the holiday, quiet and a little dim, with only one nurse and one doctor on duty. JARVIS had further explained the circumstances to the staff while Phil and Clint made their way down from their suite, so they took him into an examination room quickly. Clint handed over the used Epipen and packaging and its unused partner when the doctor asked.

Leaning in the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest, Clint was listening to Phil explain the timing of the reaction when his cell phone rang.

He wasn't going to answer it, but when he saw that it was Tony, his vision flared red.

Phil nodded when Clint pointed at his phone, and Clint stepped out into the waiting area.

"What the fuck, Stark? I thought you gave _explicit instructions!_ "

"What the hell happened? JARVIS sent me an alert that you and Coulson just rushed down to Medical."

"The dinner you sent over sent Phil into an anaphylactic reaction!"

Tony swore, and Clint heard him quickly explain what had happened to Pepper. He heard her quiet cry of dismay.

"I did, Clint. I sent explicit instructions about Phil's allergy, and had each restaurant send me their menu and a list of ingredients. When I find out which restaurant is responsible -- " he cut himself off with another curse.

"Well, it was either the salad or the fish," Clint told him, "Since that's all we got to before Phil started choking!"

"We're so sorry, Clint," Pepper added. "Tony and the others felt bad about ruining your plans, and we were only trying to help -- "

"Stop helping!" Clint snapped. "Just… all of you, stop helping me."

Stabbing the screen with an angry jab of his finger, he ended the call. Resting his forehead against the wall for a minute, he took a couple of deep breaths and then went back into the exam room.

Dr. Cruz was just finishing up talking to Phil. "We'd like you to remain here for about four hours just so we can monitor your vitals and make sure no secondary reaction occurs."

"Can't JARVIS monitor me upstairs?" Phil asked, his voice quiet and filled with exhaustion. He was still blotchy, but at least he'd stopped sweating and trembling, and the swelling from the reaction was minor.

"We'll only need to come back down if you have another reaction," Clint told him. "It's only four hours, Phil. I can go back upstairs and get your tablet, if you want."

Phil sighed. "Maybe later. I think I'll just rest for a while, right now."

Dr. Cruz nodded. "That's probably for the best," she said. She gestured them out of the room, waiting for Phil to finish shrugging his sweatshirt back on. "This way, we'll get you somewhere more comfortable to rest for a bit."

She led them into one of the empty rooms. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. Nurse Rossi will be back to check on you in a little while. Hit the call button if you need anything."

Clint settled himself a little more comfortably in the chair beside the hospital bed, leaning his head back against the wall. Phil eyed the bed with a clear look of distaste before he sighed again, took his shoes off and stretched out, pillowing his arms behind his head.

"Still cold? Do you want another blanket?" Clint asked him.

"No, I'm okay. You don't have to stay, you know," Phil told him, and Clint turned his head to stare at him, unimpressed. "I mean it. I'm fine, and you heard her -- they're only going to keep me for a few hours."

"I'm not going to leave you alone in Medical on Christmas Day while I go upstairs and what, stare at our Christmas tree, thinking about you down here? It might not be the Christmas we wanted, but at least we're together. And you're okay. That's what's important."

Phil smiled tiredly at him, shifting to fold his hands over his stomach, and Clint reached over, linking his fingers with Phil's. Phil's reached up with his other hand, carding his fingers gently through Clint's hair, and Clint rested his forehead on their joined hands.

 _You scared me_ , he thought, a shiver running through him.

Here at the tower, the Medical staff knew them all, knew that he and Phil were in a relationship and didn't question his presence. What if Phil had a reaction somewhere else, and they were forced to go to an unfamiliar hospital? Technically, he wasn't family -- they hadn't even filed paperwork for a domestic partnership or anything. Hospital staff would be well within their legal rights to keep Clint completely in the dark and away from Phil. And that was unacceptable.

The ring box was a heavy weight in his pocket.

He wanted things to be perfect when he proposed. Phil deserved that. But if this little trainwreck of a holiday was any kind of sign, perfection was going to be hard to come by. And the truth was, Phil's team could call at any moment, needing his help, or Clint and the rest of the Avengers could be called out to fight some new threat.

The longer he waited, the less likely it was that things would go smoothly. And his entire team knew what he was planning. If he didn't get to it, someone was going to mention it, and then things would be even more ruined than they already were.

 _Maybe I should just ask_ , he thought, frowning.

"Stop fretting," Phil said quietly. "I'm fine."

"I'm not… I'm not _fretting_ , jeez, Phil, who says that?" Clint said with a laugh, glancing up at Phil, a wave of fondness rolling through him.

He took a deep breath. "I know this isn't really the time, and… I had everything all planned, okay, but shit just kept… _happening_ , and… Phil, I… you know that -- I mean -- "

He huffed in frustration, annoyed at himself. Phil was watching him curiously, concern in his eyes.

"You know that it isn't… easy for me, like it is for you, I mean, to say that… you know that I love you, right?" Clint said haltingly, forcing the words out.

Phil's face softened. "I know, Clint. It's nice to hear the words sometimes, though, and I appreciate that you make the effort, even though I know it's hard for you."

"It's getting easier?" Clint said, scratching at the nape of his neck. "I mean, that only took like, ten minutes, so…"

Phil laughed, and the quietly amused sound bolstered Clint's confidence.

"Anyway, what I wanted to say is -- "

There was a knock on the door, and Clint jumped, stifling a curse.

Nurse Rossi -- Marty, as Clint knew him, from him many trips to Medical -- came into the room.

"Hey, guys. Just need to check your vitals real quick, Phil."

Frustrated, Clint resisted the urge to slam his head back into the wall, leaning against it again with his eyes closed as Marty went through the familiar routine with Phil.

After Marty had made sure they didn't need anything else, and then left, Clint opened his eyes to see Phil staring at him, that little frown between his eyes that meant he was puzzled, or thinking hard, or working something out.

Clint wanted to reach up with his thumb and smooth it out, but he settled for picking Phil's hand back up and holding it in both of his. He tried to pick up where he'd left off, but the interruption had derailed all the momentum that he'd been slowly building, and he sighed.

"I keep thinking I should wait, but then… I don't want to… but then… I just… I don't know what to do here," he said, staring at their joined hands.

"Whatever is bothering you, I'd like to help, if you'll let me," Phil told him, and Clint's head shot up at the worry in Phil's tone.

"No! Jesus, Phil, nothing's _bothering_ me, that's not -- well, you know, other than… all this," he said, gesturing to encompass the room and the bed and Phil in it. "No, I… it's a good thing? I hope, I just -- "

There was another knock on the door.

"Dammit!" Clint snarled as Tony stuck his head in the door.

"Mr. Stark, I'm sorry, you can't just go in there," Marty was saying with the cautious tone of someone who knows the person he's reprimanding is the one who signs his paychecks.

"It's all right, Marty, he can come in," Phil said, waving Tony -- and Pepper -- in. "And send any of the others back, if they show up, otherwise they'll just clutter up the lobby, looking worried."

"No, don't," Clint protested, but it was lost as Pepper rushed to Phil's side. Both she and Tony were dressed for dinner -- they must've rushed back after JARVIS had notified them.

"Phil! Are you okay? We're so sorry!" She crowded in to take his hands, and Clint reluctantly vacated the bedside chair so she could sit by Phil.

"I'm fine, Pepper. Just a little tired."

"Some of the ingredients used in the crust on the salmon were prepared offsite, and the restaurant didn't realize they'd been toasted in sesame oil," Pepper told them.

"The restaurant in question will be out of business by morning," Tony added darkly.

"Those not responsible for this error will, of course, not be punished," Pepper continued.

"That's not necessary," Phil protested.

"It definitely is," Tony argued. "I personally vouched for that food, and it _put you in the hospital_."

"I'm not in the hospital -- "

"Can we talk about this later?" Clint interrupted. "I was kind of in the middle of something, and -- "

The door opened again, and Steve came in, followed by Sam Wilson.

"Is everything okay?" Steve asked, concerned. "JARVIS said you guys were all down here, and -- "

"Everything is fine," Phil said reassuringly as Clint gritted his teeth.

"Should we call Bruce?" Pepper asked.

"No! Don't call Bruce! Don't call anyone else! In fact, everyone out!" Clint snapped, and everyone fell silent.

"Clint -- " Phil started, but Clint threw up his hand.

"No," he said, cutting Phil off. "No, I have had enough. Enough of everyone screwing this up, and interrupting and ruining things and nearly killing you, and I would like five goddamn minutes to propose, if that's okay with all of you?"

The silence stretched out awkwardly as everyone stared at him.

"Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face and gripping his hair. Shoulders hunched, he turned toward the door, contemplating just barrelling through it and taking off.

It must have been obvious, because Steve's hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly in comfort, or reassurance, or something. Clint wasn't exactly sure and didn't currently feel like thinking about it.

"We'll be upstairs," Steve said, motioning everyone toward the door.

"Outside," Tony corrected as he passed Steve, his hand on Pepper's back.

"Upstairs," Steve said firmly, and the bickering continued as the door closed behind them. Clint continued staring at it, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Clint?" Phil asked quietly, and Clint sighed.

"So… that's not how I planned for that to go, but that seems to be what's on the menu for this weekend," Clint muttered. "Fuckups everywhere."

"Clint, please," Phil said, and Clint heard fabric shifting as Phil sat up. Clint turned around to see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

He sat there in his sock feet, worn Blackhawks sweatshirt, and well-loved jeans, his hair mussed, face blotchy and a little swollen, and his beautiful blue eyes were wide with surprise.

He was everything Clint wanted. Forever.

And suddenly waiting any longer just seemed pointless. And stupid.

Clint stepped forward, dropping to one knee and reaching up to take Phil's hands. Phil blinked down at him, breath catching and eyes widening even more.

"Will you?" Clint asked him. "Marry me? I -- I love you. I'm sorry, nothing about this has worked out the way I wanted, but -- "

Phil raised their joined hands to rest on Clint's lips, cutting off his words.

"Yes," he said with a watery laugh, and then he pulled on Clint's hands until Clint was standing. Phil looked up at him, eyes shining bright with emotion. "Of course. Oh, God, I wasn't sure if that was just a ploy to get them all out of the room, and I wasn't going to let myself hope it wasn't. Yes, of course I'll marry you, Clint!"

Clint laughed in disbelief and then climbed onto the bed, straddling Phil and locking his ankles behind Phil's waist as he slid his hands into Phil's hair and drew him into an eager kiss.

"You will?" he murmured when they finally pulled apart to breathe.

Phil nodded, a gorgeous smile lighting up his eyes, and then he pulled Clint back in again. Joy flooded Clint and he deepened the kiss, wanting to get closer to Phil, wanting to never let him go again.

Behind them, the door clicked open. "Tony, don't!" Steve hissed loudly.

"He said yes, now get out," Clint said, pulling out of the kiss just long enough to deliver the words and then swallowing Phil's happy laugh before it could fully emerge.

Tony whooped, and the rest of the team -- and it sounded like all of them were out there now -- cheered and clapped, and then the door shut again.

The circumstances weren't perfect, Clint thought hazily, and his proposal wasn't perfect, but Phil was perfect, and this moment was perfect, and that… that was all that mattered. Smiling with satisfaction made the kiss messy and ridiculous, but well, that was perfect too.

**END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> More information on the warning for sudden non-contagious illness -- Phil has a fairly severe allergic reaction to something he eats. It involves an epinephrine injection, and a trip to the Medical wing.
> 
> Feelstide prompt #51: Clint has spend the past several months in an agony of only knowing what he had when it was gone. Now that Phil is back, Clint doesn't want to lose another second more. So he decides to propose at Christmas. Cue the team trying to be helpful and supportive and nearly upending the whole thing.


End file.
